


Quiet

by sjoon



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Apprentice is nameless & they/them pronouns, Bottom Julian Devorak, F/M, M/M, No Spoilers, Other, PWP, Pure Smut, if you just started and are thirsty this is for you, mostly jules' dick is involved and not much else, takes place in book 1 ch 3 so like lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjoon/pseuds/sjoon
Summary: A little bit of extra spice for the paid scene in Book 1 (The Lovers) Chapter 3 (Laying Low) because I'm thirsty & someone requested some nonspoilery Julian filth!!NB apprentice with they/them pronouns, bottom Julian, minor choking, some praise kink????





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> God I'm in deep  
> I love this stupid man  
> Not to b nasty but ... I wanna give him a kiss

The apprentice was many things, but of all the things they were, they weren’t stupid. They’d never been stupid. Not until recently, anyways. They’d been made stupid—if that, at all, made any sort of sense. Books often spun tales of romance, of love at first sight, of knowing who you were meant for the moment your eyes met. They’d hated those sorts of books. It had seemed, at the time, like absolute hogwash.

But right now, in this particular moment, they felt stupid for not believing.

Perhaps it was a bit much, a bit desperate, to have fallen into bed with him like this—but the apprentice had meant to sleep. Meant to try to sleep, no funny business, as promised. It wasn’t their promise, but a promise nonetheless—one happily broken. Enthusiastically, so, even.  
  
There was something magic about kissing Julian, and not magic in the way that the apprentice was magic, or in the way in which Asra was magic, because the magic that they’d learnt hadn’t ever felt as exhilarating and new as _this_. Every times lips met, it had that same feeling as the first time – to be perfectly clear, the first time had been mere seconds before this one, a gut feeling as the apprentice had held his chin in their hand, the choice between caring and selfish desires flickering in their vision.

They hadn’t been selfish, before, either—amazing, what the redhead was dredging from their subconscious with nothing but flushed, coy glances which lingered places that other people didn’t dare to. Nothing scared Julian, it seemed, not even death—and maybe it was that mental image of him walking willingly to the noose, to death’s open arms, that made the apprentice choose to close this distance between them.

Gods, was it worth it.

Something about this felt a little bit wrong, a little bit fast—too loud and too intimate for a stranger’s house but the way Julian looked against the sheets was painterly perfect. The apprentice had pushed him down somewhere between now and when lips had parted from frantic dancing; he looked so much softer, in the moonlight. So pretty, with lips parted and damp from the way his tongue swept over them, almost as if he was trying to taste the apprentice still there, and those auburn curls laying gracefully against his cheekbones, high and sharp—but the best part, the apprentice mused, as they traced a languid finger from those open lips down to where the blush from his cheeks splayed out beneath the soft hair on his chest; the peachy pink a watercolor splash on his pale skin, was the way he looked up at them.

Wanting. Waiting. The stars in his eyes fresh as if the apprentice were the one who’d hung them there.

They can’t help but wonder, as their fingers splay out across his chest to push him down, if he’d ever looked at anyone else like that. The pleading whisper of their name is satisfying enough to give them pause;  
“ _Please_ —” All they’d done was kiss, but he still looks wrecked; squirming beneath them, not even sure what he’s begging for. Ringed fingers wander upwards, vaguely, to the dip in Julian’s neck—where the noose would pull tight, and as they press, he gasps. It’s one of those breathy, shaky sounds, and they watch him squirm.  
“You like that?” They whisper, fingertips sliding against the skin until they can feel him swallowing against their palm. The half-choked moan is answer enough, and as much as they long to hear it fully, they stifle it with their own mouth.

“Quiet.” They breathe against the shell of his ear, squeezing softly until the frenzied beating of his heart was clear against the pads of their fingers. The apprentice kicks out a leg, dragging the curtain closed behind them with their boot, a barrier between them and interruption. Who knows how much time they have, how far this will go—they’d hate to be stopped before they’ve gotten to do anything _fun_.

The apprentice regards him from above once more, their leg pushed up underneath his thigh; he’s giving them that look again as their hand feels out his form like they had once before, outside of the magic shop. He’d been flustered, then, but it’s nothing compared to now—They find the stitches of his breeches where they buckle from the strain of hiding what’s beneath; Julian hisses in response, arching into feather-light touch that slips to his hip to hold him down.  
“Do you want me?” They ask, head tilting just barely—as if they’re innocent, somehow. As if they don’t know what they’re doing to him. As if even if they don’t already know the answer. They just want to hear him say it. Hear him beg for it.

“ _Please_ —" He says again, gaze fixed on theirs despite his deepening blush. Julian’s eye is all hunger, chest heaving, and they consider for a moment the things they could say to him that would make his pupil blow wide with arousal—all the things that would make him squirm beneath them and plead for them to touch him more.

_Filthy. Slut. Were you hard like this when I touched you last time? Is that all it takes?_ All solid options, all things that they’re nearly sure he’d like, but they can’t bring themselves to get the words out. Instead;

“Do you think you can be quiet?” The apprentice asks, eyes dangerous. Julian opens his mouth to respond, tongue lingering on the curve of thin upper lip as he nods. It’s strange to see him listening so well, without any sort of dramatic flair—though that’s most likely a symptom of the apprentice’s nimble fingers plucking at the buttons which fasten his pants closed. The fabric creaks beneath their touch, falling open nearly as easily as the doctor had under them.

Julian bites down on his lip hard, holding back every sound he desperately wants to make as the apprentice’s fingers dust along the jutting line of his hip bone.  
“Good boy.” They praise him, and smile like they mean it, because they do. There’s a momentary look of shock that crosses his face, conflicted, because he doesn’t deserve it. Not them, or their kindness, or the benefit of their doubt, but there’s a hand snaking around his cock and other holding his down by the chest. There’s barely any strength behind it, because there doesn’t need to be.  
“I’m not—” He protests, lowly, eye flicking between the apprentice’s steady gaze and their hands on his body. The easy grasp on his dick slides away, and he bites his tongue.  
“ _Quiet_.” It’s not a suggestion, and it comes out in a hiss, warning but not condemning. And then, again, soft touch and gentle praise; “Good boy.”

With the way the apprentice is looking at him, Julian could nearly swear that he is—or at least, he could be. They’re touching him, but it’s not enough. He grabs them by the wrist, sliding the hand on his chest back to where it’d been on his neck. The apprentice allows him, curious, as they bring their other hand off him to drag their tongue across their palm. As quietly as he can muster, he whines, trying that dazzling smile of his. It falters halfway, cut off by a moan which he does his utmost to make mainly air;  
“So good for me.” The apprentice purrs, fingers encircling him, warm and slick with spit. He’s too busy getting lost in the sparking feeling of their touch to realize how unfair it is that they get to talk, and he can’t even moan their name. “So _pretty_.” They murmur, sweetly, and the same heat that Julian feels in his cheeks swirls in his gut, ginger curls sticking slightly to the sweat on his skin as he struggles vainly beneath them for more contact.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since I first saw you.” They admit, leaning over him—looming and pressing their hips flush against him. Julian can’t help but breathe in sharp-- gasp and reach out, his fingers scrambling against their waist in some futile attempt to undo the clasps of the clothing there. He wants so badly for their clothing to be off, instead of having them be entirely dressed atop him while he looks a mess, shirt rucked up and twisted to the side and pants unbuttoned and shoved down haphazardly; The apprentice just smiles, dragging their finger along the slit at the head of his cock and smearing thin lines of precome down the rest of his length, teasing.

“Another time.” They promise, deft fingers picking up speed as they twist against his skin, still agonizing in their slowness but with more pressure, the apprentice’s own desire leaking into their movement. “I’ll fuck you some other time.” Just at the thought of it, Julian gave a whole body shiver, his dick twitching in their grasp. “And I’ll let you be loud,” They say, as they grind against him, smile wicked and wide—imagining what it would be like to pin him down beneath him, what their name would sound like on his tongue; “And I might even let you touch me.”

The apprentice bends down to kiss him, lips lingering as they feel him choke back a noise, spilling over their palm as they run their other hand down his chest soothingly.  
“I don’t remember telling you to finish.” Their voice is low and filled with quiet amusement—Julian stops breathing for a second. He got so caught up in his imagination, in the feeling, in wanting.

Sullied fingers press to his lips, seeking entrance—the apprentice stares at him down the bridge of their nose, eyes dark with lust;  
“Clean up your mess.” They command, and it sets his heart racing, sucking their fingers into his mouth and tasting himself on them, bitter and salty. Julian gets lost, for a second, in the task, until they finally seem satisfied with his work, tracing the shape of his lower lip.  
  
“Good boy.” He can hear them say, as sleep claims him.


End file.
